


Dov Loost Nust Paar

by Wrtfggt



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Akatosh knew this was a bad idea, Ambitious Dragonborn, Body Horror, Civil wars, Conquest, Dragon airlines, Draugr misuse, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Imperialism, M'rissi's like 16, Magic-I ain't gotta explain anything, Melodrama, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Power Imbalance, Power Plays, Self Care, Taking Over the World, There's a reason why she likes Miraak, Threesome - F/F/M, Thu'um for fun and profit, Usurpation, Who said my dragonborn is a good person, everyone's a dick, schemes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25589116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrtfggt/pseuds/Wrtfggt
Summary: Dragons take what they want. What difference it was if one had the body of a mortal?“To conquer an empire that does not want you to rule, with Elves scheming in the shadows, Dovahkiin, you are more peculiar than most.”“Let’s call it ‘claiming my inheritance’, shall we”In this world, the Dragonborn decides she wants to have it all. Maybe it was just the Altmer in her.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Serana, Female Dovahkiin| Dragonborn/M'rissi/Miraak, Miraak/Serana
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Dov

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Conquest is not a game for the faint hearted
> 
> Disclaimer: If I was Todd, I would have made an alternate Skyrim where you play as Miraak

Dov Loost Nust Paar

**Dragons take what they want**

<<<I>>>

The skullduggery of Apocrypha had started to take its toll on the First Dragonborn. Poisonous green of the skies and tar pits of its seas made the Dragon Priest feel nostalgic even for the chill of Atmora. Surrounded by books and the hideous mockery of live created by the Gardener of Men, Miraak schemed.

For over four thousand years, the sorcerer had been stuck in the Daedric realm, a trade for power he had not wanted, nor anticipated. While there had been few moments to stretch his legs between eras to begrudgingly listen to Mora’s orders, the man and the dragon within him screamed fiercely for their freedom. The one with the soul of Dov had seen the three dragons brought with him loose their sanity flying in the grim skies, he refused the same to happen to him. With the Oblivion Crisis and the subsequent Dragonbreak that had happened, his plan of escape through a plane of oblivion had been ground to a halt since Akatosh had sealed the divide between them. Centuries of work had been ruined and to make the matters worse, the Daedric Prince had not even attempted to hide it’s tentacled amusement of Miraak’s failure and cheerfully replaced the swathes of Infinite Library that the Dragonborn had decimated in his rage.

Then he had remembered the All-Maker stones, one of the thing’s Mora detested was the inability to swindle the secrets of the primitive Skaal that lived at the edges of his former island. He recalled the smouldering rage he had locked himself in, fighting the daedra and all other unfortunate inhabitants on the realm, before a plan had wormed its way into his head. Decades of planning and subtle siphoning of his own magicka through the rites and now the ritual was to be complete, just a little bit more and he would be back in Nirn. The thought of walking under the blue skies of Tamriel made the sole mortal inhabitant of Apocrypha almost want to shout at Mora, but he knew that it was futile, much like shouting at a mountain. However, with the island off the coast of Skyrim seemed to disagree with this notion. Well maybe a mountain was still out of his reach, but the Dragon priest had an inkling that with his longevity, this accursed realm was taking its toll on him, but the priest felt himself completely lucid, for now.

“Sahrotaar” he beckoned the mutated dragon that was currently playing fetch with his kin as a Lurker desperately tried to flee the children of Akatosh “Dreh Hi Halvuut Daar Stin Los Ful Ahkst Haal?”

“Thuri” the great beast snapped the daedra in half and with a mighty flap of it’s wings, the fish eyed Dragon landed on one of the arches above the unfinished giant portal frame, and eyed it’s once mortal enemy and current overlord “Zu’u Saran Wah Koraav Fin Lok Do Fin Lein” with the serpentine rasp the once lieutenant of Paarthurnax spoke continuing to watch his siblings fight, for what else was there to do in this miserable place.

For reasons he knew not, Miraak had struck an odd companionship with the serpentine dragon that had chased after him to Apocrypha, both of them understood the situation they had found themselves in and the human, if he could be called as such, had become a person worthy of respect for the dragon, as much as it’s timeless existence could allow for the slayer of its kin and the unimaginable thought that a mortal could stand against the Children of Akatosh themselves. So, the Dovah, both man and beast awaited the day their souls would flee this realm and once more roam Tamriel.

One fine day, when an experiment of making a sentient book had gone awry, the Dragon Priest was bursting with impatience and boredom. His master had wisely kept him sequestered in the halls of past knowledge, refusing to allow the Dragonborn nothing, but a glimpse of what was happening in the mortal plane. Suddenly even the skies of Apocrypha rumbled as if the skies themselves had grown enraged.

Funny, Miraak had not tried to make a brand of the Storm Call in ages, after he had almost burnt down the entirety of the Riekling wing in the library.

“ _DOV-AH-KIIN_ ” the skies had roared and naively, the Atmoran entertained the thought of Akatosh’s divine will only to realize that they weren’t calling for him a moment later. Sahrotaar re-assuredly let the tip of its large serpentine tail touch the man as the four surveyed the carnage Miraak’s voice had wrought.

Sometime later, time was…relative in this place, the man supposed as he browsed the unedited first draft of Lusty Argonian Maid. In all his four thousand years of imprisonment, the priest had never felt such an apathy as his plans grew ever closer to fruition. The stones were almost complete and all that was required of him were to wait patiently. This day could not have been better, even if all he saw was a nightmarish landscape of tentacles and whatever abominations Mora fancied. Turning the page of the tome, Miraak shook his head in chastisement.

“Oh Crassius” he said to no one in particular “I wonder if you know how many lonely nights you have saved in Tamriel? For a shameless pervert, you did have a modicum of talent” While the lizardpeople of the Hist had never been Miraak’s preference, he knew that Otar had entertained nubile scaled concubines. He had once even tried to convince the rest of them, citing that they were the closest to their gods due to their lizard nature.

“That Crazy Old bastard” a sigh escaped his lips and he threw the manuscript into the awaiting hands of a Seeker, who diligently took the book into its tentacled folds and disappeared from his sight. While their brotherhood had been rather shaky and he would never admit it- he missed the old men, well except Vahlok, that whoreson, who had wanted to remain a slave to the dragons.

Well, at least he was remembered as opposed to Miraak, no, ‘The Traitor’, whose only claim to fame was his imprisonment here and some written tomes, handed out to unwary trespassers in the realm. How else could he have gotten his first followers?

“Time comes soon then…” he said in Atmoran as he could feel the magicka almost waiting to burst.

A soft chime of magic and a swirling ripple behind him threw the Dragon Priest out of his lament, when he saw an armoured form, fully clad in Dragonbone and Ebony, wielding the Bloodskal blade. On their back a great white fur cloak rested, and a veiled helm hid their face from the world. No doubt it was the Laat Dovahkiin. With distaste and need for competition burning, the elder Dragonborn rose to his full Atmoran height and called out the challenger.

“What? Who are you to dare set foot here? Ahh... You are Dragonborn. I can feel it....” The First slipped into the common tongue of the Septim Empire as he peered at the Last behind his mask “So you have slain Alduin... Well done. I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the earth, but I chose a different path.”

The heavy breathing of the man continued and Miraak supposed that even for his strength and all that he’d accomplished, the Black Books were a far different more insidious beast. As he subtly peered into his kinsman’s soul, he was taken aback at the multitude of souls he had consumed in his trek of power. He had power, so intoxicating, yet so raw.

“So, you have slain Alduin... Well done. I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the earth, but I chose a different path-”

“-And got tricked by a Daedric Prince and now you sent some of your cultists to kill me. Now I’m here as a proper hero to put an end to this, you villain” the cultured and most definitely feminine voice called out in what most definitely was not sarcasm. Immediately Miraak froze in his steps, magicka swirling in his hand as the figure groggily stood up, resting on the cursed blade.

“What?” the Dragon Priest could only gape underneath his mask. This definitely was not a part of his plan, even it was, no way it would have been that easy! He should know, after all Vahlok had only succeeded because of the overwhelming ambush! To try something as foolish when his plan was in its final stages was against Miraak’s game plan ever since he had ascended to the Dragon Priest status. Now it was obvious that he was being set up and he had a high feeling, that she did too. The real question was who…

“Hermaeous Mora, right?”

“Geh.” she was far cleverer than her stature believed. The enchantments on her armour and accessories only reinforced that the woman in front of him was dangerous. His dragon spirit called to attack, dominate- to test his Thu’um against hers, while his more mortal half had...other ideas in mind. He was only a man after all…

“Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do now?” he asked her and the Dragoborn had put away the blade, the Book of Waking Dreams in her hands. She looked at him, her tusked mask boring into his golden one.

“Just wait until you have achieved your goals. Maybe go and plunder some ruins again. I left Zakriisos mask with his body if you want to resurrect that old bag of bones” she offered as her armoured thumb rushed against the pages of the artefact. Crossing his arms over his chest, the Atmoran added a condition:

“We will meet again Laat Dovahkiin-Face to face” he almost growled and was rewarded with a hearty laughter.

“Oh certainly, to lose track of such an interesting man would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” came her teasing reply and in a swirl of pages she was gone. Leaving Miraak and his three dragons in a state of stupor.

What in Akatosh’s name had happened?

Still it was of no matter. Once he would be free of Apocrypha, he would find the Last Dragonborn and they would speak to one another, what happened afterwards would be a mystery.

So Miraak waited until the moons of Nirn aligned with one another. After all this time it was coming together! The priest had readied the incense and strengthened his wards as the spectral armour of Dragon hide surrounded him. It was nigh time for him to leave this abysmal place.

On the altar he gathered his magicka into his palms and like golden strands let them flow through the realm of Hermaeus Mora and into the Aeterium. Shor’s bones or rather the “All-Maker Stones” across Solstheim burst into a green shine, while the Island itself shook and rumbled as if a vengeful god was choking the life of the very land. After all this time Miraak was going to be free.

_When the world shall listen_

_When the world shall see_

_When the world remembers_

_That world shall cease to be_

The tongues of his thralls echoed in his mind as he felt his very being connect with the power that had lied dormant in these structures. He could feel the Daedra bound in them scream in agony as they were burnt away, tearing holes in the fabric of Hermaeus Mora’s hide. Smell of burning squid seared his nostrils, but the priest had only begun.

“Watch me Mora!” he bellowed into the skies as tentacles burst into the sky “Too long you have bound the Son of Akatosh in your pits!”

“ **WoOrMMMM** ” a hiss bubbling with hatred echoed through the realm, even as his own bolts of magic continued to enlarge the rift in front of him “ **YoU aRe MiNe! MiNe I sAy!** ” the Daedric prince ranted as in impotent fury it tried to harm it’s mortal champion. The tentacles burst against the dome of light that had come up around Miraak. As if burnt by a wall of fire, the tentacles receded and around them a legion of seekers and Lurkers emerged. Bloodthirstily, they threw themselves at the magical sphere, even as they burnt away with divine power. Mora may have overcome Akatosh alone in his own realm, but when Shor’s dead might had been unearthed and set ablaze, the Daedra could do naught when faced with such interference. Miraak almost pitied his former master, but as the ceremony continued, he had surrendered his will to the Divine.

Storms raged and for the first time in decades the Telvanni Wizards were forced to use their wards as Lightning bolts and cold winds were aimed at their Fungal citadels. The Skaal were overcome with the icy winds and the frost wraiths roused by the arcane storm that followed in the wake of the magic that came from the Standing stones surrounding the land. Their village lost to the snow and chilling winds as they heard dragon tongue in their final hours.

“ **Fod Fin Lein Fent Hon;**

**Fod Fin Lein Fent Horaaw;**

**Fod Fin Lein Fent Dahmaak;**

**Daar Lein Fent Oblaan!** ”

Across all of Tamriel, those of great power grew aware of the change that had occurred. All dragons with dread recalled in their primordial hearts the loss of their divine power. Like the accursed Dragonrend shout, the great beasts were weakened and confused, all wondering of what blasphemy had borne such a terror. In the Throat of the World, Paarthurnax looked up in the sky and wondered of what had happened

In Summerset Isles, the sages of the Order of Everseeing Eye lost consciousness as they tried to peer at the storm of magicka brewing North of Skyrim. The Archmage attending them immediately notified the Headquarters of Thalmor and with worry in his aged face prayed to Auri-El that it was nothing like the Numidium. He remembered the Brass That Walks and the screams of Nirn as the ignorant men unleashed it upon Tamriel. A steely look appeared in his azure eyes and the elf wowed- never again.

In the Imperial City, the mages in the Orrery went blind as they, like their elven colleagues had tried to divine the location of the surge of magic they had felt in the Aetherium. Rolling on the floor in agony these mages called for their attendants and the soldiers stationed in the chambers cringed seeing the haughty mages in this state. They all silently agreed that the Synod had meddled where they shouldn’t have

Freedom, he could almost taste it. Miraak was unaware of the turmoil his return was threatening to bring to Tamriel, his far more pressing concerns were to actually escape. There was the last step in this grand plan of deceit and desperation.

The Dragon Priest of Solstheim, the Traitor, the Nameless One took a deep breath as the very ground beneath his fee rumbled as Mora’s relentless assault continued. He looked at the sliver of a portal in front of him and then he shouted. The Thu’um that he used came from the depths of his soul. It burned his very being and set his soul ablaze more than the Dragon Aspect ever could

“ **KREN DOV DAAN!** ”

Then the world ceased to be.

Miraak laughed in mad abandon as a gargantuan doorway of light appeared in front of him, blinding the daedra around him. The Daedra had finally broken through the barrier, but it was too late as still too weakened they could do nothing but let their prisoners escape.

“Sahrotaar, Kruziikrel, Relonikiv follow me to freedom!” he shouted at his servants and with a flap of their wings they had left the realms of Hermaeus Mora. Not looking back, the First Dragonborn fled the realm of Gardener of Men and his imprisonment. Once more he felt the cool wind of Solstheim, hitting his tattered robes as they fluttered in the night sky.

“By Akatosh” he quietly muttered as the clear skies and polar lights greeted him “I had forgotten how beautiful it was”

The man felt something warm and wet gush over his chest, looking down he saw a gaping hole in his chest, a last goodbye of the Daedric prince.

Then feeling his body lose all strength he had left, like a Dwemer automata without it’s soulgem, Miraak collapsed in the snow, as the shadow approached the fallen Dragon Priest from behind.

With laboured breaths, the Atmoran jumped up in the bed, wincing as he felt bandages around his torso. Looking around he realized that he was back in his chambers at the Temple. Somehow it seemed that the temple was looking far cleaner than he had imagined. There was still grime remaining, but the entirety of the room was pristine. He thought that maybe this was an illusion, a clever ploy of Mora’s to crush his spirits even more. However, there was something that made him doubt this, he could still feel the power he had summoned to aid his escape and by gods it felt glorious.

Miraak remembered falling unconscious in the snow, which made him question, just whom had brought him here. His dragons were unlikely as they could not have stabilized him in time with the wounds and as capable as the Dov were, they lacked the appendages for more subtle actions.

So, either his rescuer was one of his cultists or-

“I must congratulate you, Miraak” a female voice came from the doorway and the First Dragonborn whipped around, past the bleached skulls of trophies and ornate wall carvings to find his apparent rescuer. She was far taller than he remembered and to make matters certainly more interesting- an elf.

An Altmer to be precise. Shining between her ebony mane, the golden eyes looked at him appraisingly.

“Ogling aren’t we? Though you aren’t half bad yourself” she winked, and the Dragon Priest felt naked without his mask “High and narrow cheekbones, strong jaw. While the black eyes can be cured, it adds…character”

“Will you cease Dovahdiin?” Miraak snapped back and her full lips smiled even wider.

“And where the fun would be in that?” she tilted her head as the two golden earrings glimmered in the light “Is it so awful to listen to my compliments Wuthmun?”

Glaring black glare met golden and neither was willing to back down, only the sparking fire in the braziers made a sound as the two Dragonborn watched one another.

“Did you not want to see me, face to face?” the Laat Dovahkiin asked and Miraak begrudgingly nodded, pulling to covers higher, while his eyes searched the room for his robes and mask.

“Albeit not like this” he muttered and asked as a realization slowly came upon him “Why did you let me escape? There must have been multiple parties begging for my death willing to offer you riches and power beyond recompense”

“They could not give me what I wanted” was her simple response as she strolled into the room, not minding his state of nakedness, sitting on the chair near his bedside

“Oh, what was it then? I imagine there are a few things a woman like you would want that the Daedra or Tamriel couldn’t give you” The priest said, not failing to notice how her eyes trailed over the ritual scars on his unbandaged neck or how her gaze took in his tattooed arms where in Dovahzul a saga of his history was written.

“None of them could give me an equal” was her answer and Atmoran knew the loneliness when he felt it. In his time, he had been the only one with this power and with no one else to share his experiences, even among the priesthood- he was an outcast. A head above most, but still an outcast.

If he had felt alone within the labyrinthian intrigue and brotherhood of the Dragon Cult, then how must have she felt? Dragonborn were associated with Tiber Septim, who was not looked upon favourably in her kin and this undoubtedly had caused her trouble, for Talos was an analogue to Shor, whom the Elves reviled. Just lonely was this enigmatic woman to have her heartfelt wish to have an equal. Gears spun in Miraak’s mind as he recognized how easily it could have been someone for her, who had braved his temple and its protectors, just to cast down the stones and ruin any chance of his escape.

“You are mistaken if you think me of your equal” he said “I have had millennia to hone my powers, as opposed to the few years of dragonslaying you have had under your belt”

“We’ll see” she responded with the same infuriating smile before she took the flask from her hip and offered it to the man “We would have to spar to find the truth in that statement, but that would come later when you have recovered. Please drink this”

With little hesitation he took the flask from her awaiting hand and with suspicion inhaled the contents and finding to be mead, he looked again at her “No, I did not spike it” was her reply and reasoning that she could have killed him long ago, Miraak took a hearty swig from the drink and it was better than most.

“How did you like it?”

“Mead is mead, how else it is supposed to taste?” he answered with a raised brow, summoning a response from his saviour

The Elf laughed and shook her head “Most of Skyrim would have your head for it”

“It wouldn’t be the first time” he laughed, and the woman smiled as she looked him straight in the eye and asked a question that the Dragon Priest did not have quite an answer for.

“What are you going to do now? You’re free and I can safely say that with whatever you did, the island will not renounce your dominion”

Yes, Miraak had no idea. He had directions, of vague conquests and research that he couldn’t afford to make in Apocrypha, but it had been so far. Now he was back in Nirn and dumbfoundedly he had no idea what he would do. But the Atmoran supposed that the island’s inhabitants needed to be reminded of just whom was the master of Solstheim.

“I feel no reason to discuss it with you” was his answer, for he needed not an enemy almost as powerful as himself right after the escape of Daedric realm. She clearly didn’t believe him and judging from the glint in her eye, she had an inkling.

“Most likely you would have wanted to claim Solstheim for your own and recreate the olden days of the Dragon cult, with no masters, Am I right this far?” Miraak refused to dignify her with an answer, which much to his chagrin seemed to egg on her even further “I’m right aren’t I? There’s one problem with this plan, however.”

“Which is?” He hissed “choose your next words carefully”

“You are thinking too small, there’s a whole empire of men and Mer to be taken. Founded by a Dragonborn, mind you”

Now Miraak recognized why the woman had seen him an equal. He had imagined her as a typical adventurer, all for the adventure and loot, not an ambitious woman who clearly knew what she wanted and how to get it. Yet to take the Septim Empire or what was left of it was going to be difficult. Puppets from Dominion most likely infested the place and it was crumbling after the savage war against the elves. She had no idea how difficult it would be to seize the throne. Even with dragons at their beck and call, there were so many interfering parties.

“It would be very difficult, but I will entertain this thought. How do you plan to accomplish such a task? The empire already has an emperor and I doubt that even with dragons we could conquer it fast enough before the Dominion could strike” The Dragonborn looked at his counterpart with a raised eyebrow and he saw her grin only getting wider.

“Imagine the fact that the emperor is going to arrive in Skyrim quite soon and through my contacts I can secure us an audience”

“I do not say this often, but it seems that I may have underestimated you. I reckon you will want me to teach you all my knowledge and help you in this mad scheme, but what is that you are willing to offer me in return” Miraak scratched his chin as he watched the elfin woman in front of him.

Without hesitation, she replied “Everything as long as we can trust one another, and no secrets are between us”

“Diivahdiin” he laughed “To conquer an empire that does not want you to rule, with Elves scheming in the shadows, Dovahkiin, you are more peculiar than most.” To him it was foreign, this being of equals. To dragons there existed no such concept, either you were the ruler or a servant, there was no in between only degrees of rulership and servitude. Then it made all the more important that he would win their duel when the time came.

 _“_ Let’s call it ‘claiming my inheritance’, shall we” she beamed “What do you say?” she held out her gauntleted hand, made of dragonbone and Miraak wondered what her foes thought about this, but likely most of them were dead.

“Geh. I will agree to your terms but let this be my first lesson to you Dovahkiin- the Dov had no equals and even among their ranks there were those lesser and greater. After our duel you will find which one you are”

“I understand, but in the event of your loss be prepared to debase yourself to my whims” the elf said, before rising from her seat.

Miraak nodded “I will keep it in mind, though you never told me your name”

“Auriga Mairontar at your service, Allegiance Guide”

With that said, she left the room and the Dragonborn was replaced by one of his female cultists, carrying a tray.

How thoughtful it was that she took care of all of his appetites. He eyed the newcomer like a piece of meat as she set down the tray of dinner onto the table. Auriga would make an excellent lieutenant under his wing, what he did not know was that the woman had the same thoughts as she walked down the hall.

Letter’s needed to be written, artefacts stolen, and Dragon priests subjugated, it was lucky that Miraak was so agreeable as it meant the rebelling dragons would plague Skyrim no more and then she could use the conflict to her ends. She stopped herself, before she went any further as she needed the other Dragonborn to be loyal to her as his help would be monumental in wrestling the Empire’s seat to her advantage. Thankfully due to her darker complexion, her burning cheeks hadn’t been noticed by the man, his voice had matched the image she had in mind for him.

Both Dragonborn awaited their duel, for the same reasons. Theirs truly were a pair of matching souls.


	2. Emperor and Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons bear news, for good or ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is not set in any chronological order, but I'll probably keep a timeline somewhere. TES is rather wonky when it comes to time.

This was a somber day for Solitude.

No children could be seen frolicking in the streets and the headsman was getting tired. As the dark clouds brewed over the Temple of the Divines, the Emperor of the Fractured Septim, now Mede Empire, Titus Mede the second of his name mourned his child’s death. How fleeting the life was. It did not matter who had ordered the assassination, if the target had already been identified. Now that he was in Skyrim, the aged emperor wondered who had ordered this assassination.

Was it the elite Morag Tong, the almost legal assassins of Morrowind? Was it the Shadowscales, the Argonian royal retainers? Was it the Dark Brotherhood or some other cult sprung from the infamy of the Mythic Dawn?

The old man pondered as his escort slowly lead the way to the embalming room. The Emperor felt tired, his body ached, and he wished for rest. Who ever said that the life of royalty was easy was a damn fool. What he wouldn’t give to live his life as a simple merchant with his loved ones in peace! The seat on the Ruby throne had only cost him and his loved ones. He wondered how things would have transpired if his forbearer hadn’t ascended to the throne. His thoughts strayed deeply into forbidden paths, each grimmer than the one before, but before his grieving mind could torture the poor man more, a deep cultured voice of Commander Maro echoed through the passageway.

“We’re here, your Highness.”

Without orders, the agents swiftly opened the wooden door and poured inside, taking guard by the door. The Emperor walked inside and almost fell to his knees. Amidst the tonics and wraps, laid his daughter.

There she was, poor Vittoria. How lifelike she looked in the white burial shroud and magicks of Arkay swirling around her. Oh, how tired he was! He sat down at the embalming table and grabbed his head, golden rings and finery doing little to alleviate the pain in his chest.

“Leave us.” It was a half-heard whisper, desperate, asking to seek solace within solitude. The Penitus Oculatus agents could only numbly nod and exit the chamber. Titus Mede II, in his grief, didn’t even notice a hidden door creaking open. Maro did, but he was far too late as a whisper of “ _Gol Hah_ ” echoed across the chamber.

An azure orb of magicka entered the room and crashed against the walls, painting the walls in its ethereal aura.

The Emperor rose up and was prepared to face his death with dignity.

Through the door entered the tallest warrior he had ever seen. Clad in fearsome bone armour with draconic accents and armed with a shining great-sword, face hidden by a tusked golden mask.

Behind the warrior trailed a mage of sorts with a strange golden mask and a dark flower like staff, which seemed to radiate magicka.

The mage hung back at the entrance while the armour clad being grabbed a stool and sat down. The Emperor was no longer anticipating his death, because by years of experience, he had managed to pick up certain things. These two didn’t look like assassins and their body language spoke of far nobler professions.

“Who are you?” It was a simple question and it received a simpler answer. The warrior removed his-…her helmet and let it rest on her knee. There was no shame in admitting that she was one of the most beautiful Altmer women he had seen his lifetime. Black hair and darkly tanned skin with shining golden orbs, which radiated warmth.

“My apologies for interrupting a grieving father, but I fear that this will be the last time we will be able to speak before your assassination. We have much to discuss.” She did a shallow bow and her companion snorted.

“You haven’t answered my question still,” the emperor sat down “I see a beautiful and dangerous woman with a plan, but I still don’t know her name, nor her demands.” He finished with a raised eyebrow.

The woman heartily laughed “Auriga Mairontar- Alduin’s Bane at your service.”

“So Ms. Mairontar what do you desire of me?” So that explained things

The Elvish woman immediately straightened out in her stool and now there was something else in her eyes, something inhuman. She smiled, revealing her pearly white teeth

“I desire your empire.”

So, there it was, but it was too preposterous to even entertain the thought. The Emperor started laughing. He longed long and hard, yet his visitors didn’t show any signs of offence taken.

“Pray tell, why should I do that?” he asked, looking straight at her.

“You see, in these past years since the outbreak of the Stormcloak Rebellion a lot of unforeseen events have happened here in Skyrim” the woman said as she stretched out one finger “First there was the re-emergence of a Nordic deity of Armageddon- Alduin, a very tangible and powerful threat, capable of resurrecting its dead allies with a shout. I killed him and took all he owned, including this power over death itself.” That was impossible. Nothing could do that except the foulest of magicks.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked now, after all the Dov were children of Akatosh or Auri-El as the Elves call him and the power to bend Nirn to their wills was in their bones, why would the reversal of time be so different for ones born to Time itself?”

The Emperor was silent. His mind was hopping through all sorts of loops trying to find the correct course of action, after what seemed like eternity, he exhaled and with weak hope in his eyes, Titus Mede the 2nd agreed “If you speak the truth you will get all what you asked for, if not I can only hope that fate may repay you in kind.” The old man said determinedly as he glared at the two.

The priest walked towards the table with Victoria’s body and shouted, his body bending unnaturally backwards like a snake.

 **“SLEI TIID VO”** a mighty shout came from within the priest’s lungs and echoed across the room, a mighty crimson wave of pure energy. It hit the corpse of the woman and it rose into the air. A golden light shone and through the linen burial shroud he could see the arrow wound the assassin had struck her vanishing. The corpse the slowly floated back down on the embalming table.

A second passed and Vittoria Vici took her second breath.

The Emperor couldn’t remain sitting after that. The aged ruler rushed to her and enveloped his daughter in a bone crushing hug.

“Father? Why are you hugging me? Where am I?” the young woman looked around and grew even more confused at the scene before her. The emperor continued to weep tears of joy as he held onto Vittoria.

“Father, what am I doing in the hall of the Dead?!” she asked again, but with froze, seeing the two strange figures in the hall “Who are these people here?” she asked as she pointed at them and to Titus’ surprise the mage waved his hand, sending his daughter to the realm of dreams.

“She will need to recuperate from her state” The emperor looked at his daughter sleeping in his arms, before he turned to the strange pair.

“I have heard your offer and seen the power you wield, but” his eyes showed what strength had remained in him “Why should I give you my empire when I already have a successor in mind?”

“Hahaha, truly you are every bit of an emperor, the Thalmor picked a worthy foe” she clapped as the wizard in the back crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his golden squid-like mask unreadable “To answer your question, we possess something that your hoped heir wouldn’t. First of the reasons- we have the scores of dragons at our beck and call after we proved our supremacy over Alduin, giving us another dimension of warfare against the dominion should they strike. Second, my colleague from the Dragon Cult” she nudged her head at the wizard. Titus had not heard much about the Skyrim’s history under the Dragons, but there had to be a ruling class and how was it possible that such a person was still alive. Were they undead or they possessed some secrets of longevity?

“…With him came the magical and historical knowledge lost for thousands of years. Knowledge, which could give the empire the push it needs to evolve, not even mentioning lost Dwemer treasures that would make up for the loss of manpower. I have the third reason, but I’ll let you guess it for yourself” she patiently explained, and the old man could almost hear the gears turning inside his head. One of the reasons why the Septim Empire had lasted this long and how the provinces were kept in check was because of the divine providence they could claim from Dragonfires and the amulet of kings. Alas with Martin Septim, the bloodline of Talos had burnt out, leaving men like him restless and being able to claim the Imperial throne. Then his aged eyes widened as he had forgotten one significant fact: they had been Dragonborn!

“You would claim to be descended from Talos himself!” he muttered disbelievingly “I can see how easy it would be to rally the Empire. You would do what the Thalmor had done to Summerset!”

“It worked for them didn’t it?” was her short reply as she looked at him and he realized just how dangerous the two of them were. They both were people who would plunge the continent in total war once again if it meant a chance for more power. The peace he had built, would crumble beneath his feet. Thankfully, the emperor realized, he would be long gone from this world when they would strike.

“What do you want from me? I ask again” He was so tired. His son would have to forgive him this disrespect, but life could be better without royalty. Still holding his daughter, Titus looked at the Altmer woman, who regarded him with amusement.

“Recognize me as your heir and have the news reach both Castle Dour and the Imperial Council. As a token of my good will, the Stormcloaks will be brought to heel in a fortnight. While we have lost much, the Thalmor made a mistake, when they allowed your empire to live”

“Hmm” he was not willing to believe this, just yet, but this showed promise “We are merely an ember left by the flame lit by Allesia which was rekindled by Talos”

“It takes a little for the embers to burst into flame again”

After what seemed a long and tiring moment of thinking and weighting the benefits and weaknesses to listening to such a plan, the Titus Mede II sighed loudly. He looked into the Dragonborn’s golden eyes

“Divines help me” he nodded his balding head “I will do as you ask, but keep Vittoria safe. I know that Armaund will carve his own fate, but my gentle daughter is not ready for whatever you will do to the Empire. This is my last request to you.”

Like a dragon, her only answer was a nod of her head and a sharp exhale of air from her nose. She grabbed the golden mask, putting it over her mane.

“Vittoria will be kept safe, but until my coronation, she must be kept within Castle Dour, lest any assassins decide that they did a poor job” she said and rose from the chair.

“Miraak” she addressed the Dragon Priest “Gaar Fin Fey, Mu Los Bo Monhaven”

The now introduced Miraak did as he was bid to and Commander Maro was released from the strange power. In the newfound freedom, the Imperial drew his sword, trying to attack the mage that had dared to enslave him, but cut through naught, but air as the two had already stepped through the shimmering portal.

“Your Grace, are you alright?! What happened here?” he asked with worry as he sheathed his sword. A father in mourning was a most disheartening sight to see and even if the Dark Brotherhood was to succeed, most of their members will be put to the torch.

“It is fine Commander Maro, I was visited by people who felt my plight and returned my daughter to me. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Sir, who were they?”

“Ah, that would spoil the surprise. Now take dear Vittoria to her chambers in the Blue Palace and call Asgeir. His mourning may be over now, but I fear that there will be more trouble ahead if he were to remain where he is right now.”

The commander looked like he was about to say something about the matter, but instead nodded quietly and tenderly took the sleeping woman from the old man’s grasp. Treating her like the most delicate of flowers.

Nodding numbly, the commander held the woman in her arms as Titus Mede the Second opened the door of the Hall of Dead and together they left the temple. While the emperor had made preparations in the event of his sudden death. He now understood that this had been an elaborate trap, one which he had sprung the second he had arrived into Skyrim. He had come with only a single ship for escort under cover of the night and none except Elisif and Tulius had been aware of his presence here. However, the assassins knew that he was in the province now and with the Dragonborn and her strange accomplice back here, Titus needed to be most careful with his next steps. He could give the woman these two weeks and then he would leave for Skyrim.

A week had passed since the Death of Vittoria Vici and in Eastmarch, in the Palace of King’s, the other party in this civil war schemed.

Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm and the True High King by the right of conquest stared blankly at the war maps in front of him. The former Tongue had called his war council in the upcoming assault on Whiterun and now the brave men and women were suggesting the best way to approach the situation.

“I think our best bet is to strike at the cowards in a true battle and give them last chance to reclaim their honour as Nords” Galmar offered the straightforward course of action, but across him sat Kai Wet-Pommel, who was a much younger and maybe more conniving warrior, offering a different course of action

“I say we use the cover of the night and take Dragonsreach-have them hostage, so that they declare for us!”

“And suggest we crawl like rats to take the city?!”

“It’s not like we haven’t used ambushes before!” the blonde man cut back at Ulfric’s Thane. Soon the room devolved into shouting insults at one another and meaningless accusations and this was why he opted to make decisions by his innermost circle, being him, Galmar and the court wizard Wuunfreht the Unliving. As much as Ulfric sometimes detested magic, the wizard was irreplaceable in his ranks and he knew it too. This decision to induce him into his inner circle, had caused some uproar in the ranks, but then he reminded them of Ahzidal’s legend and that wise men that had crafted the enchanted blades they wielded. He had to free Skyrim, before the Thalmor would set their sights on the Empire again. He knew that with its natural defences, Skyrim could be safe long enough for them to rebuild and bring the fight to the elves. They had killed the Empire and forced them to forsake the greatest hero of man, Talos himself. For that he could never forgive the Thalmor and it would be with the 9th Divine’s blessing that he would avenge himself.

However, if he was to win the war, either he would need Whiterun as his breadbasket for the soldiers or something as powerful, otherworldly, perhaps symbolic that would say that his side was righteous. Immediately he thought of the Greybeards, but they refused to treat with him after Alduin’s demise. Of course, the Jarl could understand their apprehension, when he had left their order and used his powers to change Skyrim. Did they have a right to judge him? He, like many others had followed in the footsteps of the First Emperor and other great Nords before him. Then he remembered something else in that laughable armistice meeting.

There had been a warrior. They were clad from head to toe in dragonbone armour and wielding a mighty axe of living ice, of Stahlrim as his court wizard had identified later. With a voice like thunder they had cowed the squabbling elves and imperials, while forcing him to bend the knee, lest he was willing to risk his ancestors in Sovngarde. Yet it had been over a year ago, since there had been any sightings of the warrior. He could remember that clear as day, when they and the Imperial Legion received a letter with a simple message.

“Alduin is vanquished, the dragons shall no longer cause Skyrim trouble.”

His spies and messengers could only say that the sightings of the Dragonborn had been sparse and very varied. One day they had been in the college, while in the very same day another had reported seeing them in Markath. Maybe, if he could meet with the hero then he could persuade them to join his mighty cause as they had not a chance to converse before as the warrior had left to fight Alduin soon after. There had been rumours of Dragonsreach capturing a dragon, but these were tall tales, he supposed.

“While Whiterun is a strategically important location and most definitely a hold we must secured, but we must consider other avenues for power. Wuufreht, a wise man does not speak a lot, but you surely have counsel to give, do you not?” the Jarl spoke and when the Stormcloak spoke, the shieldthanes and the rest of his loyal men listened. Their bickering and discord on the matters of state and war forgotten.

“Aye, sire” the Wizard spoke, closing the tome “The college of Winterhold may appear neutral in the war, but if we could secure it’s sons and daughters in our rightful lines, we could have skilled mages to content with Empire’s battlemages, as sparse as they are in here. It would certainly make my job easier in brewing and enchanting.”

“Boy” Called Galmar to the page, that was scribbling down what was spoken “Send word to Jarl of Winterhold at once-”

“To arrive with fanfare would cause suspicion and hesitation, but if I were to come as an old friend and offer a lecture. Then offer those most ambitious a place in our ranks, but we must act cautiously. I will pen the letter myself, don’t worry the Jarl” the bearded wizard said, one of the few, noticing the sigh of relief from the poor boy.

“Alright” the Tongue concurred “Wuufreht, I’ll leave this matter to you. There is now another matter- the Dragonborn has not been sighted in months. His recruitment is not paramount, but if someone hears about his current whereabouts, a way to reach him. Immediately send the information to nearest outpost! He may not win the war by themselves, but he will help!” He explained his vision and the fellows at the table agreed. Proud warriors, smiths and businessmen full of patriotism, they all had the same mind even if they disagreed sometimes and the Jarl of Windhelm was proud to call them his allies, nay friends!

Though many did not hear them, Ulfric’s ears heard someone rushing at the door.

The door of the room was open widely ajar and an out of breath guard almost crashed to the floor when he saw his Jarl.

“What happened?!” the learner of Thu’um asked

“My Jarl…Dragons” he wheezed pointing at the windows “They wish…to speak… with you” and with the last of his strength, the guard collapsed and Ulfric felt like he had just been thrown into the Sea of Ghosts, naked.

“Damn” he cursed under his breath “Galmar, gather the Stonefists and head out. If those beasts hasn’t started burning the city down, then there must be more to this.”

With nod all warriors rose from the war table and followed their warlord out to face the ancient beasts. This would be the meeting of the legends, a tale that would remain for generations. As they passed through the halls of the Palace of Kings, they were joined by more and more guards, until a sizable squadron armed with bows, swords and staves were marching out of the Grand Hall, ready for anything the Divines would throw at them.

As they ran out in the lightly falling snow, the humans were faced with the sight of covering guardsmen and soldiers as a dozen of dragons circled the skies of Windhelm, while three ringleaders, evident in their colourful scales and the designs of their horns. Their brethren were clearly a threat, a promise to put the whole city by storm, should they be forced to. Whatever had caused it seemed too much, but then again, the Dov worked in mysterious ways.

“ **Drem Yo Lok Joore** ” the leader addressed Ulfric “ **Krosis, To Tinvaak in your base tongue. How Bonaar. Who is the Joore Stormcloak?** ”

Ulfric stepped forward bravely, his hair blowing in the wind. To his men he probably looked like a hero from the sagas, facing evil. Maybe even some day they could mention his name among Ysgramor and Talos.

“Aye, Dragon. What is it that you have come to speak with the Bear of Markath?” his own voice called to the dragon. The beast eyed him, its blue eyes, like winter bearing into his soul. With a roar it shouted, making those around him cry out in fear. Thankfully his shieldthanes remained steadfast as ever, though he knew their fear.

“ **Bah** ” the dragon scoffed, it’s claws cracking the pavement beneath its feet “ **Hi know Dovahzul. Joore, speak as a dovah would!** ” to accentuate it’s scaly demands the red scaled beast exhaled a stream of fire in front of him.

The Jarl of Windhelm did not understand, though he had an inkling as memories of Greybeards teachings appeared in the forefront of his thoughts.

“FUS RO DAH” with all his might, he shouted at the dragon, a blast of blue ethereal glow blasted into the dragon and while Ulfric used to show panic, his foe seemed to be unharmed.

“ **Sahlo** ” it continued as if it was only a wind that had stuck his face, this was the shout that had killed Thorygg and almost rent the man to pieces “ **At the very least you can use Thu’um, Joore**. **We have come, not to Tinvaak, but to demand your Gahvon, your submission** ”

As the dragon malevolently looked the Jarl in the eye, Ulfric was petrified at the implications. Would his forces be used as a stepping board for the Dragon Cult’s resurrection? Could he fight this? The thought of the Dragonborn came to his mind and maybe he could bluff his way out of this situation.

“Alduin was felled by mortal hands, Dragon” around him people seemed to regain their spirits. They would not be cowed by the slavemasters they threw off once before “Leave my city, lest you want to join him.”

The dragon rose to his full length and he instinctively readied himself to fight as did those before him. Instead of shouting a deadly curse, the crimson monster let out a bellowing laughter.

“ **AHAHAHAHA** ” It stopped its laughter and Ulfric knew that his bluff had been wasted “ **Who do you think, you fool, can rule us and demand this of you? Thuri, Fin Laat Dovahkiin calls for your head.** ”

He couldn’t believe this, the Dragonborn was supposed to slay dragons and fight for free their land, not join forces with these beasts to subjugate them.

“What if I don’t?” he asked, though his heart quivered like a rabbit and sweat swelled despite the cold outside “Will you burn down Skyrim? You know that if you do that, the days of the Dragons will be numbered once more”

“Ha, your demise Joor will be entertaining” the beast jeered “After seven moons, you will be given a chance to prove your strength, your Aal against Thuri. At noon on the bridge of the city, Dovahkiin will await you. Fell Kohnarik in battle and the Dov will leave Skyrim”

Then with a mighty flap of its wings, the crimson dragon and their compatriots rose in the air and along with their kin, flew south. Their roars summoning blizzard around them and leaving a chill in the air.

He turned to his people, doubts in their faces clear. Ulfric Stormcloak thought that he maybe had won a minor victory right here and now, but the Jarl felt that he had lost the war.

Damn you Dragonborn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter and leave a comment if you want :D


	3. Of Histories (I really should have stuck to a clear storyline)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Dragonborn debate and a catharsis is achieved. They still prove to be terrible people in the process.

It had been a week, since the earthquake and storms had voiced their displeasure on the island of Solstheim. While the rulers of the island were busy with the fallout and tried to mitigate the damages so that their little colony might thrive, the cause of this terror was resting comfortably in largest of chambers, the prayer hall.

This place was where the Atmorans had prayed to their gods in person and while the Dovah had not entreated with their subjects often, their priests did. To Auriga it was a wonderful relic to see, especially with Miraak being there to narrate how the duels had happened there under the jurisdiction of the priest or even a visiting Dragon. He told her of the disputes held by the most insequential farmers to the lords of the land, yet all of them had paled in the comparison of the priests, whom had communed with their gods directly, speaking their divine tongue.

Shivers went down her spine as she knew that today would be a most important day for her. While the Altmer had harboured some embers of her ambition, such as ending the civil war and becoming the High Queen of Skyrim, when she had first discovered of Miraak’s existence, the Dragonborn had become obsessed after learning his history.

In her forty years of experience, she was barely better than a child in the eyes of her kin, had they not been killed in the power struggles back home. She had been on her own ever since, fighting tooth and nail in the world that was indifferent to her. When she had discovered her draconic bloodline, all pieces fell into place- the vagueness of her mother’s origins and why the assassins had been so adamant to hunt her to the very province itself. In him she saw a kindred spirit, a man out of place in his time, burdened with a great destiny and burning with ambition.

She was lucky that he had returned to Tamriel, when she had started to bring her plans into reality. Her kitten had a very important part to play and she would see the peculiar Khajiti girl rewarded as she had wished. While Auriga did regret the circumstances in which she had been created, her new form was much more preferable.

“Now Dovahkiin we are in the sacred halls where the disputes were held, are you ready to see which of us shall claim supremacy?” The Atmoran asked, dressed in his pristine crimson and gold robes she had no idea, the priest had possessed.

“I don’t understand why you just couldn’t surrender to me and let me reward you for your fealty”

The Dragon Priest laughed sonorously and shook his head “I have had too many masters already, Qahnaarin” the High Elf shook her head and sent a searching gaze in his way

“Yet you aren’t willing to make us equals…”

“In soul, yes, we are of Dov. However, our experience and strength varies” he jested as he stepped into the small arena. The sides of the room were covered in dragon tongue, of what little could she understand, the hymns were of venerating dragons and Alduin, whose imposing statue, wrought of Ebony and Rubies surveyed the onlookers.

The Last Dragonborn crossed her arms “Just don’t be furious, when you are true to your words” she followed the First’s footsteps and stood across him. Twenty feet was between them and both knew that this was no different than fighting their winged kin.

“Any rules before we begin?” she teasingly asked “I don’t want you to be too embarrassed”

“No weapons” the masked man lifted his finger, then raised another one “No magic”

then the third finger “and only voice”

Auriga scoffed “Going to use that extra millennium advantage or are you afraid that a woman could beat you?” she tried to bait her opponent, who shook his head and from the tone of his voice, she could feel him grinning behind the solid gold piece.

“Tch, do you take me for a common brute. While a fight to the death would merit weapons. In civilized duels between dov, only the Thu’um would be used. After all it shows only the strength of your Dovahsil, did you not state that you were equal to me?”

The bastard had a point there. Very well, let him see just how powerful she was. Her dragon blood was singing to dominate, to crush and devour the male in front of her. However, she needed an ally not a slave or a corpse. Squashing her inborn desire, she brushed her long black hair aside and glared at him.

“Very well. First one to surrender?”

“In your dreams” he sneered

“ **MUL QAH DIIV** ” both spoke and with a blink of an eye, the Dragonborn were enveloped in spectral dragon scales, their eyes burning with power, blood flooding their veins. Yet they did not move. Not waiting for another chance, both shouted one more.

“ **TIID KLO UL** ”

“ **TIID KLO UL** ”

The world around them froze silent in blue and Miraak looked at her infuriating grin and without pause continued his assault

“ **YOL TOR SHUUL** ” a mighty flame leapt from the mask and taking the shape of a dragon rushed the sorceress. The time might have stopped for the rest of the world, but for them it continued as sand fell from the hourglass. Seeing the incoming flame, the elf offered her own retort.

“ **FRO KRAH DIIN** ” Ysmir, the Dragon of the North was not one to leave an insult unanswered as a deathly cloud of frost met with the burning flames of the Dragon priest, taking the form of a wingless dragon that jumped at the blaze. The mist from the collision obstructed the vision of the room and with quiet words of “Laas Yah” she saw two Miraaks in through it. She knew not what shout had been used, but this trickery would not stand.

“ **TOOR VOL DAAN** ” a searing wave of flame spread around her, seeking the Priest, who retorted with the same shout that she had used before, dispelling the flames, yet what he had not expected was her next shout

“ **FUS RO DAH** ” Miraak was knocked to the floor, not expecting the blast, his dragon scales blunting the impact. Seeing him collapse against the wall, made the Dragonborn cease her assault in worry for his health, but to her surprise, the First Dragonborn rose from the floor- his mask and robes as pristine as ever.

“Pruzah, mal dovah” he coughed as he settled back in his stance “Hin zu los, suleykaar, nuz nii fen ni drun hi Krongrah”

“Ruz tinvaak, Wurth Dovah” unimpressed with his arrogance she shot back, but was attacked by flying stone, managing barely to whisper “Feim” to become ethereal, letting the projectiles to pass through her and if she had been disappointed before, now a feral grin could be seen on her features. This was what she had been lacking in this battle. He had held back, but she wouldn’t have it! Her triumph would be of total victory.

“ **WULD** ” she was in his face prepared to unleash another blast of unrelenting force, yet the dragon priest didn’t flinch instead she was surrounded by the clones of the First Dragonborn, who looked ready to rend her limb from limb merely by speaking “ **AL GRON NOK** ” she retorted in desperation an Iron Atronach was called in existence nearby. Its sights were set on Miraak.

She had no doubt that her opponent could deal with the beast, but there had been a method to her madness. While he undoubtedly expected her to retreat to leave the battle or risk his clones, but what he didn’t know was that she was completely aware of this little ploy.

The Atmoran just needed to open his mouth.

“ **FUS RO** ” came the shout and the Dragon Priest was caught unaware, his robes fluttered as he was knocked down once again. This time she knew that she needed to act because they were too evenly matched in this brief moment and her heart burned with the need to continue the fight by any means necessary.

Not wasting any time the towering Altmer dispelled her summon and tackled the other Dragonborn, feeling the hard muscles underneath. Breathing heavily Miraak looked up to his opponent and her hands held his neck, while he could still attempt to win, it would be much hairier and dirty fight, no longer the formal challenge he had accepted, at least it was what she thought.

“Dreh hi qiilaan?” she asked and she could feel him trembling underneath. No doubt he was willing to try and switch their positions, but the victor of the duel had been decided.

“So, what is your answer, priest?” she asked adding pressure on his throat. He admirably tried to wiggle in her grip, but Auriga’s hands were like steel, unbending and deadly.

“Geh… _Thuri_ ” he choked out and as his neck was released, his head fell backwards in defeat as his hands laid limply at his sides. The Elfin woman looked at him with no small measure and climbed off of him.

“Don’t worry” the priest slowly rose from the floor “I will take good care of you~” she had no doubts that Miraak was not very thrilled with the agreement. Maybe she needed to show him just how pleasant his servitude would be under her. While he was an impressive and rather handsome man underneath those heavy robes, there might have been something more that he might desire, at the moment.

“Still you mock me, elf” he growled, standing with unsteady feet. The Last Dragonborn sighed, of course he would be sour after this and her words had not helped the matter one bit.

“I only used my voice, did I not? I even agreed to your terms Miraak” she approached him “I’m no daedra,so why are you acting like I will lock you in a library with monsters for company?”

“your victory was a fluke” he turned from her and she had to stifle a laugh. Foolish were the men when they were defeated, stubborn and Atmoran or not, he as stubborn as the men she had encountered in her brief career as a sellsword.

However, the path to reach most of these men was clear to her. The Dark skinned Altmer put her hand on his shoulder and smiled when he didn’t try to shake her off of the fabric.

“If it were a true battle, I would have not stood a chance.” she brushed his other shoulder and leaned in close, her breastplate pressing against his back- her breath tinging his ears.

“I will give you whatever will your heart desire. I can even give you revenge” Miraak turned his head to her and the gentle smile on her face, while her golden eyes glinted mischievously.

“What do you mean?! Speak plainly Dovahkiin” he whipped around and her smile had turned into a smirk.

“It has four words and in exchange I require you to do a request of four words” he stood there, looking sceptical, but she could work with that “I found Vahlok’s tomb, but if you want your vengeance, you will have to heed my request”

In that brief moment she wondered that maybe she had exerted too much leverage upon him but hearing a tired “…fine” her worries were unfounded.

“Take off your mask” was her request, but tiredly Miraak complied, lifting the squidlike mask of heavy gold and allowing it to fall on the ground.

“ _Handsome_ ” She muttered in the tongue of elves, letting her own gauntlet to fall on the floor.

Short black hair on the crown of his head, while dark green eyes shone at her, his high cheekbones and strong jaw gave him a look she would have rather associated with an Imperial General or one of the Interregnum warlords, but not a priest. Only thing that marked him different from the men and mer, were the patches of black scales covering the sides of his cheekbones. This little detail made him stand out much more.

Her naked hand reached out to touch his cheek, but he leaned out from it, but she followed his head and gently grasped Miraak’s chin and looked in his eyes. No wonder he was skittish around her, he probably hadn’t experienced much company in Apocrypha.

“Don’t shy away from me” she lifted his chin, so that their eyes met, but quickly the Atmoran turned from her, casting his eyes away from her, as if ashamed or too furious to meet the woman who had taken the long last position of the beings in the life that bound him. The difference between them was that she would him what his heart desired, as a fellow Dragonborn.

“Despite what Mora did to you, you are free Miraak and while you think that I have bound you again. You will find me the most generous of masters, if you would only trust me” then she let go of his chin knelt down to pick up both her gauntlet and his fallen mask.

“Here” she smiled as he took the mask from her hands and once more his visage was obscured to her “Now about that tomb I found”

Miraak stood there dumbfounded with the mask in his hands, its reflection looking back at him and though she had already turned away from him and started to explain the location and the tomb itself, Auriga had a feeling that he was smiling.

As closer to the tomb they got, the more she noticed how Miraak was enraged about the whereabouts of his enemy’s tomb. She saw how his hands clutched his staff most tightly, while his free hand switched between lightning, flame or frost spells as they drew nearer. To her it was perfectly reasonable that Vahlok would have built his tomb near the Dragonborn’s temple so in case of the renegade’s return he would rise again to stop him. Funny how that turned out, right, the Altmer thought with a smirk as they finally trudged up to the crevice housing the tomb.

Drawing the Bloodskal Blade, she ventured in first, potion of nighteye coursing through her veins, while Miraak followed right behind her. At one time she might have feared of what he might have attempted, but she was confident that he had some loyalty in her.

“To think that the Folook had his tomb made so close to my temple” he growled behind her. Once inside the temple she saw a small tent pitched just before the crossroads deeper into the temple. Beside it laid a burnt-out fireplace, while two boots poked out of the edge.

“Want to desecrate it later?”

“Naturally. However, I am intrigued by just who had thought that this was a great idea to camp in a Vahlok’s tomb”

“You did cause quite a storm with your return” Auriga pointed out as she and Miraak approached the tent.

Peeking in, the two shared a look as they gazed upon an elderly imperial man, who, snoring rather loudly, held onto a leatherbound manuscript, while a silver amethyst ring glimmered on his finger.

“I wonder what he is doing in here. What would you make of this, Dovahkiin?” The priest said without even bothering to lower his voice and Auriga had to agree. He looked far more refined to be a common bandit or adventurer infesting the ruins, yet his garments didn’t spoke of arcane talents as no wards or contingency spells had been noted when they had approached him. Either the man was very powerful or very foolish.

“Either way we cannot let him just sleep here” she at least tried to whisper, but abandoned it half way. It was clear that the man was not going to awake soon, so it fell up to them to decide the course of action.

“Maybe we could tie him up?”

“If he were a mage of some skill, I doubt that mere ropes would hold him” Miraak shook his head and Auriga tilted her head and with a frown. While they were in no rush, all that talk and no action, no battle did little to improve her mood right now.

“Let’s just wake him” She said and uttered a single world of power “ **FUS** ” the blast of Thu’um rattled the tent and sent the leather covering flying against the wall. With a fearful gasp, the old man darted up, dagger drawn and still clutching the manuscript.

His eyes looked at the two strangers, wide with surprise and fear. However, when his eyes slid over Miraak’s armoured form, he grew exatic.

“I can’t believe my eyes-a full Dragon Priest robe, before my very eyes!” Well this was awkward, but the man was already rambling “Could it be that you are some descendant of the Dragon Cult of old and are making a pilgrimage here. Although the mask is different-”

“Enough, Joor” the Atmoran sneered clearly in the mood of pretending to be charismatic, then again hadn’t had the chance these past days “Who are you to set foot in the Tomb of Vahlok the Jailor?”

“Oh, I’m Tharstan, a historian researching the Skaal” the man explained and showed his manuscript, whose title “Of Skaal” was crudely emblazoned with silver.

His earnest eyes showed no deception with the enthusiasm about meeting a Dragon Priest “Are you perhaps one of the Skaal? A different offshoot in Skyrim, now I can see the connection with Forelhost!”

Auriga saw Miraak’s fists tighten and the Nord’s oblivious chatter, the situation was very viable to develop into a shouting fit. Not a pretty sight all things considered.

“Tharstan,” the Elf inserted herself into the conversation, trying to defuse the situation before it reached its inevitable conclusion “How did you end up in here? The storm that swept over Solstheim was quite deadly”

“Indeed, I only narrowly managed to slip inside the tomb, when the winds howled. I can only wonder what had caused it”

She didn’t even look at Miraak, who dispassionately was inspecting the interior of the tomb, trying to avoid any more conversation with the old fool.

“Say” the old man examined her armoured form “If you’re already here, why don’t you help me? I wanted to explore this old tomb, but I’m not as quick as I used to be. There’s a good amount of coin in it and all the loot is yours”

“How much are we talking about?” she asked and Tharstan scratched his chin “1000 if you help me explore the tomb and additional 1000 if you escort me to the Skaal village and back to Raven Rock”

“Deal.” was her immediate answer as though she was not lacking in funds due to her stock in Honingbrew meadery and her new vassals, extra septims were always useful.

“What?!” Miraak hissed, turning to her. She knew that this was not what he had wanted, but he would understand her soon enough.

“I said _we will_ escort you through the temple and to the Skaal.” She repeated little bit forcefully, letting her draconic ancestry shine through and the Dragon Priest calmed down, though the Dragonborn could hear him grind his teeth in frustration.

“Splendid!” the elderly Nord cheered and opened his tome “Since I had been waiting in this cave for several days I have made the effort to translate numerous passages of the dragon tongue in this tomb” he chattered away as he strolled closer to the intersection and the pit full of molten fire. She knew what Miraak wanted to do as she had had the similar thought many times and the Altmer, put her gauntleted hand on his shoulder and whispered to him.

“Remember the legend of the Guardian and the Traitor?” no elaboration was needed as the Atmoran nodded furiously and was about to launch into a tirade as his posture straightened and she could feel the subtle build-up of the magicka within him.

“Maybe you can guide this man to glories long forgotten and, who knows maybe he would see your true story.”

“I see,” he muttered and touched her gauntleted hand with his own glove, removing the appendage from his shoulder “Your wisdom is unexpected, I wonder whether you are an Elf at all, Auriga”

“Now, Allegiance guide” she whispered his name “Do your duty and _guide_ this lost sheep.”

The Priest shared another indecipherable look and strolled after the scholar.

“Joor, pardon me, Tharstan” Miraak spoke as he stopped beside the scholar, who was looking at the plaque of Dovahzul with great interest “I was rude earlier, for I had no idea knowledge of my people and their way of life existed.”

“No worries, I myself am quite surprised as Dragon Cult vanished quite abruptly and Forelhost was their last stand. After that it would be a miracle if there were followers of the Dragons remaining. Say, where are you from? You seem much taller like a regular Nord”

“I’m from Skuldafn” Miraak lied smoothly “It was a sacred in site of our Priesthood, where the loyal fled to after their defeat in Jerall Mountains. A small group was ferried there by the more benevolent of the Dov, my ancestors included, to help supervise the last of slaves in case they would rebel”

“Marvelous!” the scholar looked at the other man’s outfit and noticed a simple dagger hanging from his belt “To think a whole civilization was hidden from whole Tamriel for so long!”

“Alas it is no more” Miraak said quietly as he read the inscription of the first plaque and Auriga had caught up to them.

“It reads “Wah Bo Aan Zahrakniik Fen Kos Wahl”-”

“—a sacrifice must be made. Was I correct?” Tharstan asked the Priest, who seemed much more relaxed, when they had woken the man.

“Geh, much like the fate that came of my people when Alduin returned”

“I presume you wish not speak of this. However, back to the matter in hand, there are some sealed doors up ahead. Perhaps you can figure out how to get them open. I've had a look around and the only interesting thing I've found is this inscription here, and a switch below it." With little hesitation the grate over the fire opened and the unfortunate draugr corpse lying there descended to flames, feeding the corpse to the hearth of the temple.

The sound of gates slowly opening and braziers being set alight, made both Dragonborn look at one another and then at the central path, barred only by flimsy iron gate of ages past. Each had the same thought and pulling the lever once more, the smouldering pit was sealed before they decided to venture further.

“Wait” the Nord historian rushed closer to the pair as they approached the cage housing the mechanism “We haven’t explored the rest of the tomb yet! Do you think that this is the right way to proceed?”

“Tharstan” Auriga turned to the old man and through the holes of her helmet, the eyes like molten gold looking into his own orbs of nightshade blue “We came here to cast down the Enslaver and only that.”

“But you agreed to accompany me as I explored the temple!” he protested, yet his companions paid no heed to it “I can’t believe you would demolish temple as a common thug!”

“True, but this is a quest for revenge, rather than knowledge, I’m afraid” She smiled behind the veil of the helmet as Miraak shouted open the gates.

“Revenge?” Tharstan had stopped in his place and scratched his head “Why would Dragon Cult would want to have revenge on a presumed hero of theirs?”

“Because my companion had lost everything at his hands and desecrating his temple is the least, we can do now” She said with an air of finality as she passed the stupefied man and joined the Dragon Priest turning the switch as the shimmering platforms of magic appeared in front of them.

Miraak scoffed and crossed his arms as if he had seen this display many times before waiting patiently as a pattern was set in front of them.

“I never knew the Dragon Cult had access to such magic” she said as she slowly tested the platform in front of her and being reassured of her safety, the Last Dragonborn continued her trek to the other side of the path, where she was faced with a gaping chasm and the ground crawling with necromantic abominations.

“Ahzidal’s work” Miraak said with strange melancholy in his voice “After elves slew his family, he was the one who helped to drive them to extinction. When he returned, he was no longer himself and we had to intern him in Kolbjorn barrow until the end of Kalpa. Of course, he didn’t put the madman out of his misery.”

Behind them trudged the historian with his enchanted quill, furiously scribbling down everything he could see “I'm glad these platforms appear once you finish them.” his brow was full of sweat as he looked around to see that many more of these magical passages needed to be braved until they reached Vahlok’s burial chamber.

“Interesting, Ah, the Hall of Stories. These are found in many ancient Nord tombs. There must be hundreds of years of history etched in these walls. Too bad they seem to be too damaged to read. They all seem to mention a battle between two priests, one a guardian loyal to the Dov, the other- consorting with the Daedra. In battle the traitor seems to be outmatched in the end when they split the Island from mainland and has to resort to daedric trickery-”

“So, this is how they twist my legend” The Atmoran interrupted Tharstan and tongues of flame scorched the stone clean of any remaining witness. Ignoring the scholar’s protests Miraak continued his rampage and the Elf looked on with grim disinterest. She supposed that she would have the exact same reaction if her past was twisted and her wiped from history. She could not imagine herself being forgotten for what all that she had suffered to achieve. After the call “Dovahkiin” that had thundered the land, Auriga refused to go back to be a simple sellsword.

She would rather die than be forced on the life of a vagabond.

“Don’t worry Tharstan” the Dragonborn said as both of them witnessed the Dragon Priests rampage “You see Miraak has only recently been released from Apocrypha and this is very important to him. After all, he is the last of his kind and a survivor of a culture gone for more than four millennia.”

“Could it be possible?” he asked in bewilderment as he looked on in the discharge of magic and Thu’um that tore down the ancient stone door leading to the sepulchre.

“This man was responsible for his erasure from history books. Now they are going to meet again and Miraak now has the upper hand. Won’t it be exhilarating?” the sheer wrongfulness of her enjoyment made the scholar flinch as the mighty Thu’um of the Dragon Priest rocked the cavern.

“ **FUS RO DAH** ” the Unrelenting Force of the shout knocked down the door with ease, tearing trough stone like an axe would a flimsy wooden door. Dust rose in the air and Tharstan tried to flee, but the Elf caught him by the scruff of the neck and threw him to the ground. Not paying attention to his pained grunt as he slowly rose from the ground.

“Please do not try to run,” she chided as slowly the vapour in the chamber settled and Miraak ventured forth deeper into the crypt.

“I Would hate to see you share Vahlok’s tomb.”

Tharstan looked at her with fear and ventured in after the priest, the tall woman following in his footsteps.

Coffins of Draugr surrounded the sarcophagus in the middle of the carved-out niche reserved for the Dragon Priest.

“Miraak rebelled against his dragon masters and so they sent Vahlok to kill him.” she narrated as her male counterpart with steady steps approached the casket housing his nemesis’ remains “He ambushed the renegade and during their battle, the very land was torn asunder and chased into the sea, but where history tells Miraak was defeated”

With a pop, the sarcophagus opened and along with a cloud of dust the Jailer rose. His decayed flesh stretched taut over what remained of his muscles. The staff was still gripped in hand as it had been in life and in the lifeless eyes, Vahlok, undead or not realized that Miraak had returned.

No pleasantries or taunts needed to be explained as both mages unleashed their spells. Vahlok’s fireballs vanished in the icicles spewn forth from his free palm, while tendrils of magicka latched onto the faint glow of that surrounded the priest.

“He was the stronger even then. How could he not with dragonblood coursing through his veins and granted the secrets of Hermaeus Mora” the Dragonborn spoke ardently as Vahlok was fighting Miraak’s assault, deftly summoning atronaches that could only bide time as with his powers grown through time spent in Apocrypha, the living priest proved himself to be a tempest in flesh as the whirlwinds rent the summoned daedra limb from limb, leaving the liche on backfoot.

“Yet Mora, fickle and devious, he wrestled his champion from the apex of the battle and their fight was left unfinished. Now is the rematch and I will finally see just what he can do.”

At this moment the staff in Miraak’s hand crumbled into ash. Instead of panicking the Dragon Priest summoned an ethereal sword of purple energy, while his hand where the staff had rested- the sparks of lightning danced. Chains of lighting sent the creatures back to oblivion but left the rebel susceptible to Vahloks curse that hit Miraak’s sword. It shook in a second and exploded in the bolts of magicka, shredding his swordhand.

Still Miraak persisted “ **MUL QAH DIIV** ” the ethereal armour enveloped the Priest and his mangled hand, held together by the magic of the Thu’um unleashed a powerful blast at his opponent, whose incinerating blasts burned through the robes without question, but stopped at the gleaming black scales that lined his torso.

“ **AUS SIL OBLAAN** ” The Atmoran shouted and Auriga was certain that this was all of his hatred for the Dragon Priest responsible for his imprisonment leaking out of his very being. This Thu’um felt more tainted than the Soul Tear imparted by the Durnehviir who had been trapped in Soul Cairn for a time comparable to Miraaks. If the Dragon’s shout was meant as a means to pay his debt to the Ideal Masters, then this shout was mindless destruction. On the decrepit face of Vahlok, panic could be felt as he flew out of the spells range and only narrowly dodged the blast, yet the top of his staff was hit by the very edge of the Thu’um, causing it to wither in the front of their very eyes.

She wondered how powerful the mummy casting spells in front of her had been, for Auriga saw no from his part and surmised that his vocal cords had not remained as they had once been. Now she knew that the battle had been over since Vahlok had awoken and the spectacle was would be a bore.

Still opportunities would arise to test him further if he was worthy of being hers. Looking down at the historian beside her, he was horrified and amazed by the fight he was seeing. His quill was scribbling with haste and she wondered how he hadn’t run out of ink yet, but they had much interesting things to watch.

In the First Dragonborn’s hand a shimmering sword shining like the sun appeared, it’s head almost seemed alive in the shape of a dragon. The beaming sword sang as it slashed through the air, in a way that reminded her of books on Hammerfell when she had lived at her aunt’s, on the few remaining Telvanni holdings in Vvardenfell, before she had to start her career as a sellsword.

Clearly it was her imagination, the weapon was clearly some other variety of daedra summoned to help him. Probably Meridia’s as Vahlok’s screams were any indicator. The lich screamed in agony as the conjured weapon seared his skin and was slowly disintegrating his mortal form as they continued to fight.

Flakes of flesh burnt out and magicka lashed out around them in long serpentine tongues. Even the Last Dragonborn cringed as she felt the currents of magic passing through the battle, while Tharstan beside her was still writing, perhaps even more frantically.

Then, although it was hard to see, she saw Miraak lift his blade blade and bring it down on his nemesis, disintegrating his entire being. Smell of rotten flesh burning filled the chamber and the historian let out the contents of his breakfast next to her, while Auriga became ethereal, waiting for the smell to dispense.

“Congratulations,” she clapped “Do you feel better now that Vahlok lies dead at last?” Miraak shook his head as the weapon disappeared in a flash, leaving him in the faint light cast by the single remaining brazier and the burning corpses.

“I will need much more to merely calm down, for this was not a battle I expected, but a duty to put a feeble old priest to rest. Twice my victory was robbed from me- once by Mora, now Akatosh. Do you feel my Maar Ruth, my terrible rage?”

“Yes” she admitted with a wink “But you can put it to a much better use, Dii Sonaak”

Miraak’s heavy breathing stopped and he grunted in pain as more blood seeped through his gloves. Immediately soothing light enveloped him as the Last Dragonborn held his hand.

“I had no idea that you possessed such skills” he hissed as his muscles knit themselves together and bones took their proper places “I may be not as magically attuned as my kin, but I didn’t neglect my magical studies.”

As the healing continued, Tharstan approached them, completely shell shocked and ecstatic

“Glorious! How amazing! A real Dragon Priest! In all my years as a historian, I never thought I'd see anything like that. Say would you-”

“ **GOL HAH!** ” Miraak’s voice rang out and as Tharstan shut up and stood there aimlessly as if waiting for an order.

the Last Dragonborn, Auriga Mairontar, thought that this was a start of a beautiful companionship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Tharstan, did he not see that those two were having a moment :D

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a translation use the Thuum Org translator
> 
> This series was borne out of seeing too many dragonborns with no ambition.


End file.
